An Outlaw Nature
by Grimjawa
Summary: Mystery Incorporated: a bunch of kids with nowhere to go and no purpose in life but to solve other people's problems. They stick their noses in the business of others for a living, and are still learning that there's some truth to that old saying about curiosity and the cat. - A sequel to The Dropkick Clique.
1. Chapter 1

**{Hi'ya, good people. I just wanted to say a few things about this Fic before it gets underway... This is my own personal take on the Scooby Doo universe, and is a sequel to a previous story I wrote on this site called The Dropkick Clique. Several requests for a follow-up is the reason that this was written, so I suggest you read that before this, but it isn't necessary to understand and enjoy this tale. Do whatever you want.**

**Alright, now that that's out of the way, I issue _another _warning. Just like with the previous story, this contains strong language, sexual content, etc. It's, in my opinion, a more realistic version of the Scooby Doo universe - less people in masks trying to scare other people, y'know? Because of this, it's very different than the series that it's based off of, but not so much that it's unrecognizable. I try to keep the comedic elements of the old show, while still putting my own style of writting on it, but everyone won't care for my particular brand of, ahem, comedy. If you don't like it, no worries.**

**Now, if you're still interested after all of that, then please read-on and enjoy _An Outlaw Nature_. A special thanks to sly bandit, PrincessThunderquake, SirenWrage, EinIII and everyone else who reviewed The Dropkick Clique.}**

* * *

Twice had the detective almost dozed off at the wheel. Ashley smacked herself across the face and reached for the thermos of coffee at her side, her only companion in the dead of night. Black, bitter, no sugar with just a splash of raspberry creamer, about her only luxury over the last few weeks. She took a few sips from the lip of the silver thermos and turned up the air conditioning, freezing cold air rushing into her face. She needed to stay uncomfortable and awake, lest she wind up wrapped around a tree.

Blue lights came into view and she slowed her vehicle, pulling over to the curb. Ashley inhaled deeply, taking in as much breath as she could after shutting the car off. Shaking her head, she grabbed the door handle and prepared to step out, then noticed her appearance in the mirror. Quickly, the young detective straightened herself, flattening the wrinkles in her teal dress-shirt, running a hand through the low-cut naturally cinnamon hair. She stepped out of the vehicle, making certain to grab the dark leather jacket that sat in the passenger seat before doing so. The biting cold nipped at her face and Ashley grit her teeth, fighting a shiver. Throwing her jacket on, she started a purposeful walk toward the yellow tape.

Officers were already on the scene, keeping the small crowd in check, mostly members of the construction site's employ. Ashley showed her badge to one of the officers and ducked under the tape, continuing on through the cold toward the crime scene. One of the uniforms, Jackson, approached and greeted with a nod.

"Evening, detective."

"Jackson, it's cold, it's late, and I'm running on fumes, so let's make this quick. What the hell happened?" the woman asked, almost coldheartedly. The man knew there was no malice behind the words, but exhaustion. "_I_ was investigating Mister Crowley. Or at least I assumed so. My investigation was not done, so… why is he being arrested?"

She glanced over. A Texan, cursing and howling like a dog with its paw caught was just a short distance away, being forced into a squad car. He was not going willingly. After shouldering an officer into the squad car door, the young, brawny, former Longhorn linebacker barreled toward the detective, recognizing her from the multiple investigative visits to his abode. Under investigation for the disappearance of his sibling and her friend, he was not the kindly type and did not appreciate the unwanted attention. He apparently was still quite upset with Ashley's aggressive questioning…

Jackson drew his sidearm, barking commands at the man, beckoning him to cease his charge. "Lower your weapon," Ashley told the officer in a stern tone, continuing to stroll despite the bull seeing her in all red. She smiled at the still fit Texan. "Good to see you again, Mister Crowley."

"Detective, get back!" hollered Jackson.

She ignored him. "You look a little irate, sir. Is there something wrong…?" Ashley prodded as Crowley drew closer.

When close enough, at the very last instant, a collapsible baton slipped from the confines of her jacket and extended to its full length. In a flash, the woman bludgeoned Crowley's exposed ribcage with the weapon. A follow-up blow took out his right knee and the woman stepped behind him, pulling the black piece back into the neck of the man before her. Hissing and gurgling, the man relented and stopped fighting as the pressure on his windpipe increased. Officers moved in quickly, weapons still trained on the man. Ashley released him when the group was close and they pilled on, pinning him to the ground.

Coming to her side, Jackson asked, "Are you alright detective?"

Ashley knelt down, driving the tip of the baton into the ground, returning the length into his handle. "Fine. As I was saying, exactly why is he being arrested? We don't have any evidence that'll stick."

"Mary and Jenny Anders. We found them."

The young detective looked around at the construction site. Crowley was building a house, a large manor. "Here? He tossed his sister and her friend… _here_? In the ground that his new house was being built atop. You're telling me that there was something we missed?"

"Found them in the driveway, in the concrete. He made a great effort of hiding them…"

"Rat bastard… Who found them? Peters?"

"Nope. Wasn't a cop," stated Jackson as they continued to walk toward the skeletal household.

Raising an eyebrow, Ashley looked to the young man beside her. "Then who?"

He pointed and she followed his line of sight. On the other side of the house, being questioned by a handful of officers, sat a quartet of young people, appearing to be only slightly younger than the detective herself.

"Private detective agency, ma'am."

"What the hell…?"

A petite girl, brunette, bobbed hair atop her head and rectangle-framed glasses shielding eyes full of defiance, looked up at the officer standing over her. Somehow she'd turned the questioning back on the officer, and was now inquiring about his home life, his wife, and if she knew he was cheating on her. The young officer had no idea how she knew so much about him, and was beginning to let his anger get the better of him. Pen and pad being crushed by a pair of clenched fists, he listened to her, blood boiling, not even considering what would happen if he swung on the young lady. He no longer cared. She was poking fun at him now, and although he was supposed to keep his cool, the officer was ready to strike.

Before he could, Ashley pat his shoulder and said, "I got it from here…" The young man grit his teeth, turned on his heels and stomped off, seething. The other officers interviewing the quartet of entrepreneurial investigators watched him go, then turned their gaze to the detective. "I've got it from here," she repeated.

They got the hint and made themselves scarce, leaving her with the group.

Ashley just stood there, assessing the small group. The brunette was obviously well-learned, had her head on straight, and knew how to twist and manipulate someone's words, or else she wouldn't have been able to get the best of the officer questioning her. She sat, smiling up at Ashley, no doubt gathering information just as she was. She could look into the girl's eyes and tell that they were quite alike, though, but the detective liked to think she had a slight advantage over the young woman in the form of instinct.

Sitting directly beside the brunette was a young blonde man, also assessing Ashley, but for different reasons, she was sure. His hair was cropped short and his eyes were as blue as the ocean. He exuded confidence; that was clear. In his hands, the blonde held an open-faced pocket watch, and he glanced at it briefly, like he had somewhere important to be. Ashley made a mental note of it and silently moved on to the next in line.

As pale as Jack Frost, the girl next to him was no doubt the beauty-queen of the group, sitting, legs crossed, hands stacked atop her knee, with a content smile on her lips. Her hair looked like fire coming from the mouth of a blow-torch, bright orange at the edges that bled into a deep crimson, falling to her shoulders. "Are we free to go?" she asked, putting on the sweetest, most innocent voice she could muster, and a fairly good one, Ashley had to admit. But these kids snatched her arrest right from under her, and she wasn't letting them leave until she got all the information she needed from them.

Finally, there was a tall, lanky man sitting on the end, looking at the detective from behind the messy hair before his eyes. He flipped the locks from before his face, and once his vision was clear, and he got a better-look at the officer, jerked his head back, probably surprised by her appearance. She was out of uniform, and a looker at that, but her badge and sidearm were clear at her sides. He was the only one to actively avoid the detective's eyes, the one of the group with the least nerve.

"Private detectives? You four?"

"Don't think so?" asked the brunette. "We _did_ just solve your case…"

"How do you know it's mine?" Ashley asked, narrowing her eyes at the young woman.

"Why else would you be here?"

Jackson brought over a pad, handing it Ashley. "Rogers, Blake, Jones and Dinkley."

She looked over the information before her, then looked back up at the group. "Mystery Incorporated… I've heard of you."

The smile Jones wore grew wider. "Our reputation precedes us. I've always wanted to say that."

"So, you all proved that big tank of a man over there is a murderer…? How exactly did you pull _that_ feat off?"

"You can thank our dog for that. He's in the van. Didn't want one of your idiotic officers to put a bullet in him," the redhead chirped.

"He sniffed the bodies out of the concrete and we went to work with some pickaxes," the blonde stated. "Simple as that. It had yet to completely dry, so it wasn't too difficult."

"Was this prior to your subduing the homeowner?"

"This was after we knocked that lug out. He didn't put up much of a fight."

Dinkley spoke again. "Just for the record, he attacked as soon as he got a look at us. This was self-defense."

Taking a look back at Crowley, the woman nodded and said, "Oh, I'm sure." She returned her attention to the quartet, glancing down at the notepad in hand.

"Well, detective? Is that all you need from us? We've got a paycheck to pick up."

Jackson leaned into Ashley's ear and whispered, "Story checks out. Crowley admitted to attacking them."

Sighing, a little irked by Dinkley's confidence, Ashley knew she had no choice. "Yeah… I think we're good. You all can go."

Rogers jumped up out of his seat, turned and said, "Imma' warm the Mystery Machine up."

As the rest got up to follow, Dinkley watched the young detective out of her periphery, thin lips turned up in a content little smirk. The young woman pushed her thinly framed glasses up the bridge of her nose, and the two women's eyes met. The fire burning in the detective's made her heart skip a beat, but Velma wasn't intimidated by her; she'd stared down murders, psychopaths and master thieves. A rather good-looking police officer was a nice change of pace.

The short, freckled brunette continued to smirk and said, "Have a good night, detective…"

"Detective Ashley Hale. How 'bout next time staying out of police business, Miss Dinkley."

A humored giggle escaped the young woman's lips. "I'm sorry detective, but this is what we do. There isn't any changin' it."

Ashley was forced to watch as Velma sauntered away, knowing she and her friends had kicked the police force's collective ass once again, solving yet another c rime better than those wearing a badge ever could. The scowl the young woman wore seemed to be etched into her features, into her very soul.

"You okay?"

She slowly turned to Jackson, gritting her teeth behind her lips. "I was just outdone by a bunch of private investigators in a van that reeked of marijuana. I'm peachy, Jackson. Just peachy-keen…"

Velma jumped into the passenger side of the van, already running, Earl Sweatshirt's _Guild_ booming out of the brand new speakers installed in the Mystery Machine. Mac Miller's verse was just ending as she pulled the door shut, and Shaggy put the vehicle in drive. Putting the crime scene behind them, the quintet got back on the Georgia streets.

"What did she have to say?" Scooby asked through a long yawn. He had been, until that point, fast-asleep, enjoying a dream that he could no longer remember.

Still, the short-haired brunette grinned. "She wanted to threaten me, like all cops do when we solve their cases."

"Not _all_," said Daphne from the back. "There was that one that reminded me of Ice-T from Law and Order. He was pretty cool."

Slowly turning to the redhead, Fred stated, "He said if we ever crossed him again, he'd show my insides the long end of a nightstick."

"Your point?"

"I think what Fred means," started Shaggy, "we need to be more careful. These guys could easily pinch us on obstruction of justice. We can't run a business from behind bars, at least not a private detective agency. If we were selling cocaine, maybe."

"Shaggy's right. We shouldn't be careless," said Scooby. "But, we also can't let them push us around. We're doing a better job tan half of these guys. That's bound to rub _some_ people the wrong way."

"Yeah, it just happens to be people on the nicer side of law."

"Exactly."

Daphne pulled her phone from the pocket of her sweater as her friends began to reminisce on the multiple times they irked law enforcement throughout the two years since their company's inception. Swiping through her diamond-pattern lock, she was brought to her home screen and immediately called her uncle. The man had been gracious enough to allow his niece and her friends to stay at his lush two-story home during their time in the city of Atlanta.

A few job requests in their email inbox is what brought Mystery Incorporated to Georgia, and with one down, the investigators were ready to get back to their temporary loggings and get some sleep.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Uncle John. We're on our way back, want us to pick anything up on the way?" asked Daphne, toying with a few strands of her hair. The sounds of loud talking, laughing and music could be heard on the other end.

"Actually, I'm not home, Daphne," the man replied. "I'm at a little party this friend of mine is throwing at a club."

"Oh, okay."

"Actually, why don't you and your friends swing by? I'd like to introduce you."

Putting a hand over the speaker, Daphne leaned forward and asked, "You guys wanna' hit a party real quick?"

Coming to a stop at a red light, Shaggy looked back at her. "They got food?" Daph brought the cell back up to her ear and repeated the question. After receiving a nod, the young man smiled and said, "I'm in."

"Yeah, why not?" agreed Fred.

"Sounds good to me," Velma said.

"We're on our way, uncle. Text me the address and we'll be there."

* * *

The loud, rhythmic, irresistibly foot-tapping music could be heard through the solid brick walls of the club as the investigators walked around the building. Fred couldn't help but bop his head to the bass-driven tunes. There didn't appear to be anyone standing in line, and all comers that approached the club's front door were swiftly turned away by the large bouncer. Whoever was throwing the party rented the entire club out.

The man noticed the quartet of young people coming down the sidewalk, and turned toward them. "Identification, please."

Daphne's uncle suddenly poked his head out of the stained glass door, tapping the bouncer on one of his broad shoulders. "They're my guests, big fella'," he said, gesturing to the pack of young people.

"Alright, Mister Maxwell."

The large man was polite enough after that to step aside and allow the quartet, along with their large dog, to enter the club. Once inside, they were met by a pleasurable assault on the senses. The music sounded even better once inside and the smell of mouth-watering food wafted up their nostrils. A young man in a casual pinstriped button-down shirt and jeans, wearing a welcoming smile beneath a pair of thickly framed designer glasses stood just off of the entrance.

"Welcome to the Rabbit Hole," he said, continuing to grin.

"This is my niece and her coworkers, Al."

The man's eyes went wide and his smile grew. "So, this is the niece you won't stop talking about?" The man, who couldn't have been older than twenty-two, extended a hand to the redhead. "It's a pleasure to finally make the acquaintance of the famed Blake detective. My name's Alphonse, but I prefer to go by Al."

As his niece squeezed the woman's hand, John said, "Al's the manager here, and was gracious enough to let my friend, Tommy, to rent the place."

"Well, Tommy's not a bad guy, so I thought I'd cut him some slack. We usually don't allow employees to rent the entire building out on days they're supposed to work, but-"

A man, possibly another employee of the night club, called out to the young woman. She half-turned her head and nodded. "Don't let us hold you, Al. We'll be around, go take care of business," said John.

Smiling again, the young man turned and said, "Alright. You all enjoy yourselves. I'll talk to you in a while, John."

Al disappeared deeper in the club, off to handle his managerial duties. Turning up the bottom of his beer bottle, John polished off the rest of the fermented beverage and belched. "I need another beer." The amateur director turned on the heels of the soft leather loafers, making a beeline for the bar, and his favorite bartender.

"You will take me to the nearest source of food!" demanded Scooby.

"Alright, I think they got a dessert table over this way…" John said.

As the Great Dane followed, Daphne said, "Don't go too far, Scoob, m'kay?"

"No."

The teens stood in the doorway, looking on at the club before them. A large circular bar stood in the center of the main area, two bartenders pouring drinks and keeping the customers well intoxicated. Passed that, an oval dance floor, drowning in iridescent, mostly blue lighting, stood. The DJ scratched the turntables, mixing songs that were familiar and loved by all, with rocking bass that seemed to shake the floor beneath their feet. Mystery Inc. slowly made their way deeper into the bowels of the building.

"Some gorgeous girls in this place," remarked Shaggy, scanning the area, checking out the talent.

"Yeah. Now," replied Daphne with a cocky grin.

"Imma' see if I can score a little liquid courage. You guys want anything?"

"Beer," Fred said.

"Peach Ciroc," Daphne said, patting Shaggy's rear as she often did. "Thanks, big bro."

"And what about you, Velm-Velm?"

"Scotch, please."

"Alright. Here's hopin' they don't ask for I.D."

"Milk that goatee for all it's worth, buddy," suggested Fred with a grin. "Walk like you're twenty-one. Command respect! Show these people who Norville 'Shaggy' Rogers is, dammit!"

All three of the blonde's companions stared at him with exasperated contempt. "Are you done…?"

"Think so."

Straightening the collar of his shirt, pulling his long hair back and clearing his throat, the young man strode toward the bar to buy their drinks. The others hung back in a little corner of the club, leaning against the mirrored wall, watching the patrons drink, laugh, flirt and try to get lucky. Looking at the whole place objectively, Velma started to think.

Glancing over at the brunette, noticing her head listing to the left, Daphne asked, "What's on your mind?"

"Do we act like this when we're drunk?"

"Nah. I'm sure we carry ourselves with a little more class," proclaimed Fred, his chin held high.

"Freddie, it was just last month that you assaulted a clown at Chucky Cheese."

"He dropped the charges," the blonde mumbled in return.

Daphne snickered. "Only because he claimed to know what it is like to be drunk."

"Yeah… That was a sad clown."

"Aren't all clowns sad on some level?"

"It's like the only thing they have in common," Fred chuckled. "In clown school, I think all of them must get 'Forever Alone' tattooed on their chest."

"I bet the logo of Clown University is probably a red nosed man digging his own grave."

"Every time an angel gets her wings, somewhere a clown dies…"

As the trio cracked up laughing loudly, a tall, quarterback-esque man, appearing around college age, mustered up the courage to approach the small group, dark haired Velma in his sights. He slicked his black hair back, put on his best heartbreaker smile and sauntered over like he invented swagger. Velm saw him even before he opened his mouth, and made an effort to try and avoid his gaze, hoping he would get the message and break off. No such luck.

Ignoring the presence of Fred, which greatly insulted the blonde, the man said, "Hey, beautiful. I've never seen you here before. Mind telling me your name?

Velma adjusted her glasses and said, "Yep."

"Aw, come on I don't bite."

"But _I_ do. Trust me, you're not my type."

"I'm not your type?" the man asked, genuinely shocked. "So you're not into the strong, intelligent, talented type?" Slowly turning to Freddie, he said, "You must be into-"

"Uh, he wishes."

"Insulting…" Fred chimed.

"Tell me, then," the man said, pausing to take a sip of his light beer, "what is your type?"

"You knowing won't help."

"Why don't you tell me anyway?"

Taking a moment to think, Daphne said, "I believe what she's trying to say is that you don't have the right… equipment."

"Equipment?"

Draping her arm around Velma's neck, the redhead pulled her close. "Think about it, big boy."

It took longer than it should have, but eventually the young man got the hint and his shoulders disappointedly slumped. Not another word was uttered. He just turned and walked away as Daphne planted a small kiss at the corner of the bespectacled girl's mouth. The man slithered away, off to find another girl of different a sexual orientation. Wearing a Cheshire grin, the pale-skinned Daphne watched him leave, content with the little show that she had just put on.

"Works every time," she said.

"Well, I'd say so," Fred remarked. "Finding out you have absolutely no chance in hell is a quick turn-off."

Daphne still had Velma by the neck, and the brunette gave her a quick glance. "You're enjoying this _way_ too much, Daph."

"Aw, come on Velma, won't you be mine?" asked Daphne jokingly as she pushed her cheek into that of her companion.

"Not gonna' happen, red."

"You heartbreaker."

Shaggy returned carrying two bottles of beer and two glassed. "Alright, Scotch for Velm. Peach vodka for Daph and beers for me and Freddie."

Accepting the bottle, the blonde nodded and said, "Thanks, Shag. What do I owe you?"

"Not a dime. These are on the house." Shaggy pointed across the bar to Alphonse, who was busy speaking to a member of his staff. He glanced quickly at the group of young people and gave a leisurely salute.

Fred raised his bottle and nodded appreciatively. For that, he received a stiff punch to the shoulder, one that almost made him spill his Bud Light. "Ow! What the fuck did I do this time?!"

"That's no way to thank someone for paying for our drinks!" proclaimed Daphne. "Get over there and thank him properly!"

"What? Why me? We all got drinks! And he's obviously diggin' Daphne…"

"I have to agree with Fred on this," admitted Shaggy. "Bat your eyelashes, smile like you always do and you'll have him eaten from between your legs, er, I mean outta' the palm of your hand…"

"Hold on a sec-"

"A guy like him is well connected," Velma said. "He might know someone that is in need of our services. So smear some honey on his ass, 'cause you're gonna' be kissing it."

After a long sip of her vodka, Daphne said, "That's where you're wrong, Velm-Velm. He'll be kissing _my_ ass."

"Ooh, that young man is in trouble…" said Fred.

Shrugging loosely and polishing off her drink, Daphne straightened her hair and left her friends, beginning to make her way to the other side of the bar. Pushing and excusing herself through the reasonable crowd, she sidled up to the bar, but the young floor manager was no longer there. It would be near impossible to track him down on his own in a club of this size, so she tried to cut the search short.

Leaning into the bar top, she tapped its tender on the shoulder. "'Scuse me. You see where Alphonse went?"

Continuing to wash the glasses in the sink, the man said, "Yeah, I think he went to the back. You can go back there and look if you want."

"Okay. Thanks you."

Working her way around the dance floor and those that occupied it, Daphne made her way to the back of the building. Ducking into a small hall that held the rear entrance, she looked around for Al, still loosely gripping her glass. The back door was slightly ajar, and a cold breeze slinked in, chilling the young woman after she had warmed up in the club. Against her better judgment, she opened the door further, letting even more of the cold in, and poked her head out. The parking lot was empty except for a single vehicle pulling off, tires spinning, screeching as the rubber burned against the asphalt.

The red rear lights shone bright as the vehicle pulled away. Daph felt a fluttering feeling in her chest. She always trusted her gut, and it was screaming at her at the moment, telling the redhead that something strange was going on. Something…

"Daphne!"

The sudden scare caused the young woman to jump with a yelp, the perspiring glass slipping from her grasp. It broke on the hard ground beneath Daphne's black boots she cursed. Turning to see Scooby standing behind her, panic expressed in his face, the young woman knew something was up.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Velma… and she… Just come on!"

Daphne ran behind Scoob at full speed, unsure of what was happening. Scooby was always easily rattled, but he wouldn't have come to retrieve Daph if things weren't serious. Whatever was happening with Velma, it was bad and needed to be stopped. She needed her friends with her.

Rounding the corner, Daphne saw Velm standing by the front door, looking smaller than she had in a long, long time. Standing before her, eye-to-eye was a face that the pale-skinned Daph had almost forgotten. A woman, standing in a pair of dark blue Vans, wearing a top that left her right shoulder exposed and a pair of light blue jeans, stared at the young detective. Her "Vampire Bite" pierced lips were turned up in an amused smile. Velma did not share this emotion; in fact, she looked so distraught that Daphne was half expecting her to start retching.

Both Fred and Shaggy weren't far away from Velm, but they had no idea what to do, what to say, if they should intervene or let things run its course. Daphne's previous sprint was reduced to a sluggish, hesitant walk as she tried to figure out what she needed to do.

"Kaitlyn…" Velma whispered breathlessly. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn't move, her heart was pounding in her chest and she was in a cold sweat. The intelligent young woman had thought that fear no longer existed in her. After putting away serial murderers, thieves, psychopaths and everything in between, she thought that there wasn't a thing on the earth that could frighten her. She was wrong.

The warm smile that the woman before her gave sent shivers down Velma's spine. "… Hi Velma. It's, uh, been a while. How've you been?"

The rest of Mystery Incorporated thought Velma was going to pass out, or lose her dinner, and Daphne was prepared to pull her into the women's restroom, if not to just get her away from the other woman. But Velma didn't vomit and didn't cry. Her chest swelled, her eyes filled with fiery rage, and her body tensed. She stepped forward and drew a clenched fist back, driving it directly into the young woman's solar plexus. Growling, the brunette stomped her way out of the club, leaving Kaitlyn in a heap on the floor, clutching at her own abdomen. It didn't seem many people noticed the little incident, so Daphne grabbed the woman, lifted her up and pulled her into the women's restroom.

"Are, uh, you alright?" the redhead asked as they burst through the bathroom door. Kaitlyn collapsed onto the cold, sterile floor. "That punch looked a little stiff…"

"She still packs a wallop," she grunted in return. "A helluva wallop…"

Kneeling beside the dark-haired beauty, Daphne sighed. "Well, I think it's safe to say she wasn't happy to see you."

"Yeah… Safe to say…"

"What're you even doing here?" they heard through the door.

Chuckling, Kaitlyn took a deep breath in an attempt to recompose herself. "It's good to see you too, Shaggy!"

"Hey, I never said I _wasn't_ glad to see you, I'm just wondering why the fuck we ran into each other like this…"

"Well, allow me to state for the record that I didn't plan this…" Kaitlyn had been touring the country on the heels of Cage the Elephant, opening for them with her band, the Hex Girls. Mystery Inc. had all but erased the woman from their memory, but apparently, it's not that easy to just write someone off. The woman had done almost irreparable damage to Velma, and then just left, off to pursue rock-stardom, leaving quite the bitter taste in the collective mouth of Mystery Incorporated. None of them could particularly blame Velma for her actions. Not after the torment Kaitlyn put her through. Returning to a vertical base, the woman said, "Thorn's cousin owns a studio here, so the other girls and I set up shop here so we could start work on our second album. We've only been in Atlanta for two weeks, I swear."

"Although that does seem to be a reasonable excuse, I doubt it'll convince Velma not to beat the shit out of you again…"

"I see she still doesn't have that temper reined in."

"Can you blame her?"

"No… I don't think I rightfully can."

The guitarist checked her appearance in the mirror briefly, making sure her makeup was straight and her watering eyes had not smeared any of it. When satisfied, she turned to leave restroom, but her arm was grabbed. "You leaving already?"

"Aw, miss me, did ya'?" the woman grinned.

"Actually, I'm more worried that if you step out there, and Velma is still wandering around, she'll suplex you right into the bar top."

"I can handle Buttercup, thank you very much. I'm late anyway."

"Late for what?" Scooby asked as raven-haired Kaitlyn stepped out.

Looking down at the pooch, she snickered. "You're a nosey bunch."

"Comes with the territory," the canine stated.

"Alright, then, for your information, I'm here to see a friend. The floor manager."

"Alphonse? I'm pretty sure I saw him leave a good five minutes ago," said Daphne.

Narrowing her vision, the musician contemplatively glared at the redhead. "That's… odd… He's usually here all night." The woman slowly turned, striding deeper into the building, eyeing the nocturnal party-goers. "Blake. Exactly where did you last see him?" Kaitlyn asked, acknowledging the three detectives tailing her.

"Uh, the bartender told me Al stepped out the back. I looked out there and just saw taillights."

Kaitlyn picked her pace up, beginning to rather rudely shove her way through the people. Eventually, Mystery Inc. lost her in the crowd as _R.I.P._ started to thump through the speakers and the crowd loosened up, drunkenly hooting and hollering along with the song's lyrics. Finally cutting their way through the thick of it all, the trio caught up with the pale-skinned woman, kneeling outside the club, in its side parking lot.

"Well, this isn't good, now is it?"

"What's wrong?" asked Daphne.

Velma and Fred were approaching from around the front of the building just as Kaitlyn lifted the wallet she had found lying on the asphalt. Opening the custom made white and green superhero-inspired themed piece of leather, she pulled an I.D. from its confines and sighed at the name typed onto the laminate card. "Alphonse Del." Laying the plastic down, she continued to probe the wallet, finding credit cards and cash within. "Guess he wasn't robbed…"

"Then… what happened to him?" Daphne asked.

A chilling wind blew over the young people. Clearing his throat, Scooby said, "Can we go somewhere without getting caught up in some crazy bullshit? Just one time?"

"Doesn't seem like it…" Velma mumbled in return. "Fred, why don't you put a call in to Detective Hale. She'll be glad to hear from Mystery Incorporated."

"And tell her what?"

Velma and Kaitlyn spoke simultaneously. "That Alphonse Del has been kidnapped."

* * *

**{Well, that's it. The first chapter is done, you've read it and you're awesome because of it. I always appreciate reviews and if you have anything on your mind, feel free to PM me. Hopefully, you enjoyed this humble young writer's weird little project :D}**


	2. Dirty Deeds

**A/N {Apologies for the long time between updates. My schedule's been kicking my ass all over the place, but I'm back! Hopefully, from now on, updates will be weekly or bi-weekly. As always, reviews are appreciated, if you've got anything on your mind, PM me. Also, if you're the gamer type, check out the community, _The Untold Tales of Tamriel_. Some friendly authors I put this collection of our Elder Scrolls stories together. They're all original ideas instead of Dragonborn/Champion of Cyrodiil based. It's a nice sized group of fics with interesting premises. Stop by if you want!}**

A black Challenger, windows tinted to just below the mark of legality, came to a slow halt just outside of the now deserted club, engine roaring once as the gas was given a light caress. The growling then ceased as the vehicle was shut off. Wearing the same scowl she had the last time Mystery Inc saw her, detective Ashley Hale stepped out of the muscle-car, eyeing the scene before her. A call was put in to emergency services, and the caller specifically asked for Ash. She wouldn't have come if she didn't personally know the victim.

Velma approached the detective as she exited her vehicle. "Thank you for com-"

"I didn't come for you, Miss Dinkley," Ashley said sternly. "Alphonse is an acquaintance of mine. I'm only here to make _sure_ that he was kidnapped."

Jackson, on the scene first, just as the woman had asked him to be, came to the short, brunette's side. "It's looking like kidnapping, ma'am. Security camera footage from the club _and_ the ATM across the street both show him being grabbed and pulled into a car. Didn't look like he wanted to go."

Pushing past Velma, Ashley began to question the officer. "License plate, driver's face? Anything?"

"No. We've almost nothing to go on except the model. Silver Honda Pilot," reported Jackson as they strode toward the club entrance, Velma trailing behind.

They entered into the establishment, where employees and others were being questioned by police. "Not what I wanted to hear…" Striding through the establishment, Ashley observed, quietly watching faces, expressions, movement. Every once in a while she would glance back at the brunette still tailing her.

"Miss Dinkley, I would appreciate it if you wouldn't follow me around."

"I'm not following you, I'm investigating," said the young woman. "This is a Mystery Inc. case too."

Chuckling, the detective turned, facing the brunette. "Oh, I don't think so. You lot are staying out of this."

"You're gonna' need us, and you know it. We were here, you weren't. In fact, Daphne actually _saw_ the car that Al was pulled in to. That means she's a witness. Are youo going to turn away a witness' testimony?"

Ashley gently bit down on her bottom lip, staring into the bespectacled brown eyes before her, trying to suppress a reaction. She inhaled deeply, turned and walked away. If only to attempt to get away from the young girl, Hale decided to check on their techie, see if he had cracked the computer in the back office. Opening the office door, just off of the main bar, she poked her head in.

"How's it coming, Felix?"

"Well, I'm in, and I've gotten his email open, but I don't think you'll like what I found…"

"Why don't you tell me anyway?"

Clearing his throat, the young officer started, "I'm not finding anything out of the ordinary. Spam from porn sites, Books-a-Million sale updates, etc. Nothing of consequence."

"Shit."

"Told you."

"Come on, there has to be _something_ in his inbox, or outbox, or spam, or-"

"There's nothing, ma'am, just your usual garbage."

The detective's fingers rapped anxiously against the desktop. "If he was in trouble… why didn't he tell me…?" she mumbled.

"Because he told _me_."

Ashley turned to a familiar, but unwelcome face. "Double shit…"

Kaitlyn smiled wide, eyes bright and full of cheer, even with a gun leveled at her. Snickering, she remarked, "I've seen bigger."

"A standard issue sidearm is still enough to crack open that pretty head of yours." The weapon's hammer was pulled back.

For some reason, unknown to anyone in the room, Mystery Inc.'s messy-haired, bad tempered, short-fused Velma stepped in between the detective and the former thief. Kaitlyn was the most shocked by the protective display, as she had thought the list of friends she had in this world to be quite short. Maybe Velma _had_ forgiven her. Then again, it wasn't too long ago that the short girl had her clutching at her midriff in agony. It was a mixed bag.

"There a problem, Miss Dinkley?" the detective asked, looking past the brunette.

"We've got bigger issues right now. I don't know how you two know each other, and I really couldn't give a fuck, even if I tried. It would take a whole lot of money, or a never-ending orgasm machine to make me give even the slightest of fucks, and still it wouldn't be genuine. If you all have forgotten, we have a human being that's unaccounted for."

After few ticking moments of silent contemplation, Ashley lowered her weapon, returning it to its holster. "Felix, keep at it, see if you can find anything crucial to this investigation."

"Alright."

With an unmistakable spite, she pushed through Velma and Kaitlyn, driving her shoulder into the chest of the latter as she went by. The woman paid no attention to Fred standing in the doorway as she left. He had seen the entire exchange and had been ready to jump in to prevent one of his best friends from being taking a bullet. Although the young woman had come to Kaitlyn's aid, she refused to look the musician in the eye and refused to acknowledge the help she just offered. Velma only sharply turned on the heels of her boots, and strode out of the office, meeting the blonde leader of her company for a brief moment. He couldn't unearth the emotion in her features, as they were almost non-existent. She was like stone.

Kaitlyn on the other hand showed her emotion much more freely. Lips turned up in a wicked grin, she looked to the young man. "Quite the show, huh?"

He didn't respond.

"Please don't ask. The history between me and Ashley is personal."

"Almost as personal as the history between you and Velm?" Fred knew it was a low blow, but didn't much care. She almost noticeably cringed, but her smile held.

"Yeah. Almost."

Kaitlyn attempted to walk off, but Fred grasped the musician's shoulder tightly, stopping her. "Listen. This is a Mystery Incorporated case, and if you want to be involved, I need to know if you're going to be a problem."

"Problem?"

"You know what I mean. She obviously hasn't completely let go of you. You were her best friend, and probably, her first love. I wonder if Velma's mentally ready to be around you."

"Velma's tough."

"Oh, trust me; I know that better than _anyone_. She's though, but she's not made of steel. As much as she would like to be Powergirl, she's not."

"Going blonde would be a step in the right direction if she wanted to be Powergirl. I mean, she already has the bust for it. And her legs are great, too, I mean-"

Kaitlyn saw the look in his eye. The young man was not amused.

"Look, I know. I _know_. I'm not good for her, I know. But Al is my friend, _my_ _friend_; he called me for help, not Mystery Incorporated, not the police, but me. And I intend to help him."

Giving her a quizzical look, Fred crossed his arms over his chest. "He asked for your help? Why?"

Kaitlyn pushed out a forced sigh, glanced around quickly to see if anyone was in ear's reach. She took a step toward the blonde, leaned in close and said, "He called me up yesterday, and told me that he was in trouble. That, uh... someone was after him."

Gingerly nodding, he whispered back, "That sounds like something the police might want to know."

"Fuck the police."

"That's a very N.W.A. thing to say."

"The only cop that I believe I can trust with this information is Ashley, and that's 'cause she's known Al just as long as I have. I trust you guys. I trust Velma."

"You trust us?" Fred asked, giving a raise of his eyebrow and a slight smirk.

"Yup."

"Why?"

"You're a persistent bunch of assholes."

"I'll take that as a sincere compliment."

"You should," Kaitlyn smiled. "If you set your minds to something, it'll get done."

"Damn straight."

Kaitlyn reached into the back pocket of her skin-tight jeans, pulling a skull-faced chain wallet from within. She opened the triple-fold wallet up, searching inside it for a few brief seconds before pulling a business card out. The woman presented Fred the black laminate card, telling him, "I'll be here tomorrow. Meet me so we can try and figure out what's going on."

The former career criminal left without another word, leaving Fred to watch as she went out the club door. She walked right by a still noticeably agitated detective Hale. Shaking his head, the young man brought the business card up so he could look at what was typed on the front. He could feel someone leering over his shoulder and glanced back at Shaggy, trying to read the card as well.

"You know this place?" Fred asked.

His best friend's eyes were as wide as saucers with shock, mouth ajar. "Dude… That's the Dragon's Lair."

"Am I supposed to know that name?"

"It's one of the best independent recording studios on the east coast."

"Sweet. Well, we've got an appointment there tomorrow with the Hex Girls."

"The Hex Girls?" Shaggy began to contemplatively stroke his bearded jaw. "Now I've gotta' find somethin' sexy to wear…"

Bringing the palm of his hand to his face, Fred snickered, "Please don't…"

"This is gonna' happen, Fred!"

"That Dusk chick will beat the living shit outta' you."

"I'm counting on it…"

"… The fuck does that mean?"

* * *

Daphne pressed the buzzer and waited. Looking up, she figured the recording studio's interior must've been much more impressive that its exterior, because she never would've thought the simple looking warehouse was anymore than just that. It stood across the street from a large shopping center, nestled between two other buildings without signs of markings. The redhead couldn't hear any music from within either, and began to wonder if they even had the right place.

She glanced to Fred, but he was already double-checking Google Maps to make sure they weren't at some meat packing plant. But the heavy steel door swung open and a short bald man peered at the quintet from behind a pair of thickly framed glasses. "What?" he asked.

"Uh, we're Mystery Incorporated?" Fred told him.

He seemed to think for a minute, and nodded slowly. "Yeah, yeah, you're that Scottish rap group, right? Is the dog a member, too? You have any verses for him or is he just a mascot, because if he can rap-"

Shaking his head, the blonde replied, "You've got the wrong idea, pal. We're here to see Kaitlyn."

"Who?"

"Katrina Wolf."

"Yeah, yeah, she said that she was expecting some people…"

An awkward few seconds passed by with the man still standing in the doorway, staring at the private detectives. "Are … you gonna' let us in?" asked Daphne.

"Of course I am!" the man proclaimed, opening the door fully and stepping inside.

"Right…"

The quintet followed him into the facility, down a dark hall in almost utter silence. Scooby walked along the wall, curiously sniffing the floor as they went, not looking for anything in particular, just being nosey as he often was. It was then that he picked up the scent of greasy, thick-sauced, golden brown pizza, and took off like a bullet down the hall. He made a hard right, slipping on the cold floor before turning.

"Will someone put a leash on that mutt!? I can't have him running around my studio like that!"

"He's not a mutt!" Daphne said defensively. "He's a purebred Great Dane!"

"Daphne, don't lie…" said Fred. "He might be a Great Dane, but he is most certainly not purebred."

"Fine, but he _is_ well-behaved."

A shriek from down the hall made the redheaded woman shut her eyes in shame.

"He better not be fucking with my clients," the man proclaimed.

At the end of the hall, they made a right. Before the group, a door hung open with the sounds of an electric guitar being thoroughly shredded and lovely, perfect vocals bleeding out. The man leading them pushed the door open and entered, with Mystery Inc. behind him.

Before them, were the four members of the Hex Girls. Luna, bassist and main back-up vocalist, sat closest to the door, curly aubrun hair hanging freely. Her legs were crossed and a notepad sat atop her rather thick thighs, which were clothed by a pair of tight, black leggings. The pad'd pages were filled with lyrics and imagery, the inner machinations of her mind. She was the only one in the room that gave a smile when their manager entered with the investigators in tow. She was also the only person whose skin didn't show any ink.

Sitting on the other side of the room, feeding Scooby pieces of sausage from atop the pizza she was eating, was the group's drummer, the blonde-haired Dusk. The dark liner that she wore drew attention to her eyes, eyes that seemed to look through the detectives. She seemed to be content to just ignore the group and continue to play with Scooby. Dusk was known for being the wildcard of the band, and not as a gimmick or because she thought it was "cool", but because that was her personality. The woman was crazy and the Hex Girl's fans loved her all the more for it.

In the sound booth, belting her heart out to a highly riff-based track was the leader of the group. Thorn, pale skin, dark, crimson-highlighted hair, with a voice that could soothe a bull seeing red one moment and break glass the next with a simple change in tone. Many critics and listeners of their music agreed that she could stand toe-to-toe with some of the most legendary front men and women in the business and hold her own. In addition, she was a skilled rhythm guitarist, able to expertly send growling chords and licks from her amplifier without interrupting her powerful vocals.

Lastly was the woman that asked them for their help. Hanging from Kaitlyn's neck was a Schecter Blackjack SLS Avenger FRS, her dream instrument, and the thing that she and Velma would often ogle at the music store in their home town. That was in the past, and presently, Velma felt empty standing before the woman that she once considered to be her one and only friend. Now, the brunette wondered just what friends were worth…

"Thanks for coming, guys," she said with a practiced smile.

"Yep…" replied Fred.

"Uh, so, this is Dusk and Luna, and Thorn's in the booth. You've already met our manager, Harry. And this is Louie." The man sitting behind the record equipment threw his hand up, but didn't turn to the group. "Everybody," she continued, "this is Fred, Daphne, Shaggy, and Velma."

"It's a pleasure," Luna said.

"'Sup…" greeted Dusk, a little less enthusiastically.

Sitting her guitar down with care, she glanced around at her band mates, ignored that awkward moment following introductions and said, "Alright, now that the introductions are outta' the way, why don't we go down the hall and talk?"

Fred nodded and stepped aside, allowing the young woman by. Performing an exaggerated curtsy, she walked out into the dark hall with him close behind. Shaggy and Daphne followed, but their mascot and intelligent problem solver were left behind in studio, with the rest of the Hex Girls. As much as she wanted to go, Mystery Inc. had a very specific way of doing things, and if the majority voted for something, then they had to abide by it. Four-to-one, they decided the brunette should be as uninvolved as possible in this case. She wasn't happy.

As soon as they were clear of the room, Kaitlyn fired a cigarette and took a long, much needed drag. The entire band had been cooped up in the studio, recording for the past four hours, truing to flesh out their sophomore album. Touring had kept the Hex Girls quite busy, but they somehow found time during to write a slew of new songs. The studio was the part of making music that the girls _didn't_ like – it could be tedious, frustrating, and difficult. Performing on stage felt so much more natural to all four musicians, flowing, moving and making a crowd of people feel what they feel. It imbued Kaitlyn with a power difficult to describe. The exact opposite of how she was feeling in this particular moment.

Reaching one of the secondary studio rooms, the group entered. Ashley Hale was already inside, dressed much more casually than she had been the previous night, in a simple pair of blue jeans, high-heeled boots, and a tattered tank top. Her demeanor had not changed, though. She was still the cold-eyed, stoic woman that she was before.

"What're they doing here?" the officer asked.

"They're here to help," Kaitlyn said.

"You've got to be kidding me…"

"And you're gonna' get along with them just fine, aren't you?"

The look in Ashley's eyes said that, not only was she not happy working with the young investigators, but Kaitlyn's tone grated as well. If they both didn't have a mutual friend in Al, Ashley wouldn't have even agreed to come on her day off. The woman wished she would've never gotten involved with them group, but, ever the realist, she knew that the past could not be changed. For the time being, she held her tongue.

"Good," Kaitlyn said. She turned to Mystery Incorporated, who were thoroughly uncomfortable with the tension in the room. "Alright. If you all are going to be involved in this, you'll need to know everything… You guys recall my previous line of work, I'm sure…" An awkward pause followed.

"Yeah, we remember," Shaggy mumbled.

They remember their first major case, when the company was tasked with catching a thief that'd been terrorizing their home town, breaking into banks, museums, knocking over armored trucks. To the police this thief, dubbed Eris by the public, was unstoppable, and was quickly becoming a popular figure, with people making t-shirts with her masked image sewn into the front. But to Mystery Inc. she was a welcome challenge. They began their investigation into her, and eventually, laid a trap for the sneak-thief at the local museum, where an enticing prize awaited; a small meteor fallen from space, worth millions. They sprung their trap on Eris, but she was able to slip through their fingers. Not before her mask was snatched from her face, though… What was underneath broke Velma's heart.

Kaitlyn stared at her boots. "Right. Well, I wasn't working alone. I had a team backing me up."

Daphne's eyed went wide. "Seriously? All this time we thought that you were just some kind of master thief!"

"As flattering as that is, I wouldn't have been able to do half the shit I did if it wasn't for the two people that had my back…" Kaitlyn set her eyes firmly on the Atlanta police detective sitting to her right. "Alphonse and Ashley were integral in Eris' success."

Slowly, the collective gaze of Mystery Incorporated went to the young woman, but their looks did not faze her. She continued to sit, keeping her composure.

Kaitlyn continued to say, "Alphonse was our techie. He hacked security, killing camera feeds, disabling lasers and alarms when needed. He thought it best to let a camera run every once in a while to allow the public to see the character, and establish her as a force to be reckoned with. Ashley and I shared the role of Eris. We would usually go out together, dressed identically. No one could tell us apart since our body types are so alike. I was the brains, she was the muscle."

"Makes sense," Fred remarked. "There were always doubts that what you were doing was possible for one person."

"So," Daphne said, "what I'm hearing, and I could be wrong, it seems to me that you all pissed off the wrong people during your time as career criminals. Now, your friend is paying for it."

Producing a tablet from her computer bag, Ashley passed it to Shaggy. "That is Dimitry Roden," the woman said. "He runs a lucrative crime syndicate, coined the Rat Pack."

Ashley shot an angered look to Shaggy when he snickered. "Uh, the Rat Pack? I'm sorry, but is it a crime syndicate, or an off-Broadway play? Because it sounds more like an off-Broadway play…"

"Mister Rogers," she said slowly, trying to contain herself, "although, the name might not be the toughest sounding, these men are quite dangerous."

Taking the tablet from Shaggy, Fred looked at the profile Ashley had assembled on the man. He didn't appear too threatening, just looked like your regular European, except for the scar that ran across the bridge of his nose, from cheek to cheek. "Alright, so this guy has your friend? Then why are we even talking about this? I mean you're a _police detective_! Just sick the force on him."

"First off, we have no idea where Roden is currently."

"Yeah, you don't find him, he finds you," Kaitlyn said.

"Oh, he's one of those types, huh…?"

"We aren't necessarily Roden's favorite group of people either," she added, leaning over Fred's shoulder to look at the man's picture on screen. "He believes that I took his daughter from him."

"Why would he think that?" Daphne asked.

"Because I did."

"Wait, what?"

Sighing, the young musician eased herself down onto the floor, crossing her legs beneath her. "When I met his daughter, we hit it off and started hanging out. Eventually, we started dating. Her father didn't know."

Rolling his eyes in his head, Shaggy said, "Oh, I'm sure this will end well… It's like giving an elderly woman a jack-in-the-box with a boxing glove tied to the head for her birthday…"

"It actually did end well, Norville. For me and her, at least. We live together. Anyway, he hates me."

Crossing her arms, Daphne leaned back in her chair, kicking to front legs up. "Just for falling in love with his daughter? Seems a little extreme…"

"Well, we also might've swindled him out of some money."

"There we go. How much?"

"Two-point-five billion American dollars."

No one even helped Daph up when she lost her balance and the chair tipped over. She hit the floor with a thud and a groan. It was as she rolled onto her front to push up, that she saw Velma standing in the doorway. "Two billion dollars?" Fred asked, mouth still hanging agape. "Two fucking billion dollars? What the hell did you need two billion dollars for?! Are you trying to build a laser-shooting space station or something?"

"We're not the ones responsible for taking the guy's money. Al is. He hacked Roden's bank account and stole the cash. Ashley and I had nothing to do with it; in fact, we had already ended contact with Dimitry."

"Then why save this guy?" Shaggy asked.

"Because he's our friend. Just like how you guys would do anything for each other… So. Are you still in?"

No one spoke up. They had no intention to. This was Kaitlyn and Ashley's business now. "We're in," said Velma, using a tone that left no room for argument. All eyes in the room went to her, and each of her companions were about to speak up, but the look on her face forced them to keep silent.

A smile spread across Kaitlyn's back lips. "Well, then it's decided."

"You still haven't explained what you've got planned," Scooby stated, padding into the room lazily. "I was listening from the other room…"

"Well, basically, I plan on going to meet with Dimitry, trying to hash something, anything, out. Ashley will back me up. It'd be great if you guys could do some digging and see if you can find where they've stashed Al. It's somewhere in the city, but where, I have no idea…"

"And how will we do that? We don't know this guy, or his business. We'll be flying blind!" Shaggy protested. "That's not a good idea, especially when poking around a crime syndicate's turf!"

"Don't worry; I've got someone willing to help out; someone that knows his business better than anyone."

Leaning forward, elbows to his knees, Fred stared at the young woman. "Alright, well, there's another problem…"

"Before you say it, I'll pay you guys. I know Mystery Inc. is a business and you all don't work for free," said Kaitlyn. The look on her face was stern, and with a firm nod, she gave a silent promise.

Shrugging, the young blonde stood, extending his hand. "Then you've got Mystery Incorporated."


	3. Dangerous Minds

Fred rhythmically drummed the inner well of the steering wheel, watching the apartment building through the windshield. The complex was on the nicer side, something that undoubtedly cost a pretty penny to lease, and something that only a tenant with a decent sum of money could afford. Kaitlyn had been inside for nearly twenty minutes, leaving Mystery Inc. to wait outside while she retrieved her Rat Pack contact. The blonde reached to his side, checking his pocket watch for the third time in the last five minutes.

"This is some bullshit…" Daphne murmured, always the least patient of the bunch. She played her long, lustrous, blood-red trusses. She had just dyed her hair the previous night and was feeling good about her appearance. It irked the pale woman when she got dolled up and couldn't show it off. Her make-up was perfect; the tight white blouse she wore hugged every curve of her torso, like her shorts did her hips.

Scooby let out a heavy yawn and shook his head, trying to wake from his nap. He leant forward, putting his head in between the two sitting up front and looked between them. "She's not back yet."

"Unfortunately, no Scoob. She's not back yet."

"Does she remember that we're down here?"

"I'm not completely sure."

The pooch yawned again. "Fantastic."

Looking back into their mobile base of operations, Fred, with reservations, asked, "What've you got, Velm?"

The brunette, since the previous day, hadn't slept a wink, mostly due to a lack of trying. She was working like a woman possessed, digging and doing all she could to find information on the Rat Pack. Fred wished Ashley hadn't given her access to the police's criminal database, but Mystery Inc.'s brains insisted she needed it. The young man really couldn't believe it went unnoticed by him for so long, until Scooby pointed it out during their previous investigation. He always knew Velma was a hard worker – it wasn't in her to half-ass something – but lately she had been burning the candle at both ends with a flamethrower, and it was becoming more and more obvious. She was always exhausted, but never slept much, or at all, when they handling a job, and her solution was usually just a Kickstart or a Redbull and a few self-inflicted slaps to the face, that left her freckled skin burning a bright red.

The group was beginning to worry…

Meeting Fred and Daphne's gaze with her tired eyes, the bespectacled girl's face was expressionless, a telltale sign of disappointment. "Zilch, nada, nothing, zero information."

Smiling a warm, sisterly smile, the redheaded Daphne said, "Well, why don't you take a break then, sweetheart? Bust out the Magic the Gathering cards, let's play a round!"

Holding the pale-skinned woman's gaze for a moment, Velma shook her head slowly and returned to the computer screen. "That's alright, Daph. I know you're really not into it…"

"Well, that's because it confuses the shit outta' me. It's just fuckin' goblins, dragons and a bunch of numbers! I-I mean, I love Magic!"

"Nice try, Daph… Imma' dig a little deeper, see what I can find. Just do me a favor and turn the radio on or something; it's too quiet in here, like a fucking morgue."

Saddened by her failed attempt to get her friend's attention, Daphne sighed, glanced down at Scooby, who gave her a knowing look, and turned back around in her seat. "Okay."

Pushing the dashboard's power button, Daphne kicked herself when she heard a familiar and popular song scream its way out of the Mystery Machine's clear speakers – the Hex Girls' _Undead Love_. Just as Thorn was getting into the finer parts of the sad first verse, Shaggy hurriedly reached over to turn to something, _anything_ else. Although nothing was inherently wrong with the song, it just felt odd listening to it, odd knowing whom the song was written about. To everyone else, it was a nice, melodic, emo-inspired song written about some girl. To Mystery Inc. it was something different.

"Let's, uh, find something good to listen to. Maybe some Sabbath?"

Smiling to herself, Velma softly said, "I wouldn't mind some AC/DC…"

"Weird fuckin' Australians dressed as schoolboys even though their old enough to be our grandparents. Comin' up!"

As Shaggy searched through the stack of CDs that the group had collected throughout their travels across the country, he glanced up briefly. Finally descending the complex steps were the women they had been waiting thirty minutes for. Kaitlyn led another notably beautiful woman, one with short head of hair done in a lazyhawk styling, with the sides of her head shaven, leaving a strip of long blonde hair to run down the middle. The strange woman carried herself with regality, walking with an expert grace atop her colorful wedge heels, long legs covered by a pair of tight black jeans, and a tank top with a snug black and white letterman jacket over top.

It wasn't until they got closer that Shaggy noticed some other things about their appearance, namely the flush of their faces, Kaitlyn's mussed hair and smudged obsidian lipstick. "You've got to be shitting me…" Daphne muttered, mouth hanging agape in disbelief. "That's what we've been waiting on?"

"What?" asked Scooby, not moving from his prone position.

"Apparently we've been sitting here for twenty – twenty fucking minutes – because little miss 'rock star' had to get herself a quickie."

"Or a not-so-quickie. We've been out here for half an hour, Daph…" Fred reminded her. "Quickies are supposed to be five-to-ten minutes, not nearly forty minute long, nonstop bang session."

"What I wouldn't give to be a fly one _that_ wall," Shaggy chortled.

"What a fly wouldn't give to be a fly on that wall!" shouted Fred.

Approaching the van's driver, shivering from the cold air, Kaitlyn smiled and nodded. As the window came down, she said, "Sorry to keep you waiting, boys and girls."

"Oh, no, we don't mind as long as you had yourself a few nice knee-buckling orgasm." Kaitlyn couldn't help but wear a guilty little smile at Daphne's snide remark.

"How polite of you all! I really appreciate it!"

Clearing her throat, the musician's young friend approached as well. "We look like a pair of prostitutes leaning into this van's window," the blonde woman said. "Can we maybe class this up a little?"

"Uh huh… Well, everybody, this is my girlfriend, Donna. Babe, this is Mystery Incorporated."

"Yeah, nice to meet you," the woman said, half-heartedly. "Let's get this shit underway already."

Ashley's signature, black Challenger came to a soft, silent halt right beside the Mystery Machine. The heavy click of the doors being automatically unlocked was heard and Donna glanced back at it. "Babe, you'll be helping these guys try and track Alphonse down," explained Kaitlyn. The punk guitarist's expression darkened, followed by her voice taking on a serious tone. "Ash and I are going to go meet with _him_."

"M'kay. Good luck," said the woman, her voice sympathetic and a little worrisome, but only Kaitlyn could tell. After she turned away, Donna reached out, grabbing a tight, nearly painful hold of her girlfriend's wrist, pulling her back. Once face-to-face again, she leaned in, giving a soft peck on the lips. "Hey. Be careful, okay?"

"Yup."

Holding Kaitlyn in place with a stiff arm, Donna stared into her eyes and repeated, "Be. Careful. Please."

"I will. Plus I've got Ash to watch my back. We'll be fine, babe. We're just gonna' talk, that's all. Nothing bad is gonna' happen."

"It better not…"

With that, the woman jumped into the passenger-side of the vehicle through the window, much to Ashley's dismay. Just as the police detective was starting to berate the musician, she slammed her foot down the accelerator, the Challenger's tires spun and they peeled out, leaving behind black streaks on the asphalt and the smell of burnt rubber. Sighing, Donna walked around the back of the Mystery Machine and Shaggy opened the doors for her. She stepped in, but not before Scooby gave her a once-over with his nose. She took a seat on the van's padded floor, tucked in the corner by alone, sitting as lady-like as possible. Considering her position, it was not easy. With every turn, she had to fight as to not end up on her side.

"So, Donna. Exactly where are we going?" Freddie asked, starting the engine.

"Well, there are a few places I would keep Alphonse if I were my father. The first I would suggest is a little apartment on the west side."

"Address?"

"369, Mather Drive."

Punching it into the GPS, Fred got things underway.

* * *

It looked no different from any normal apartment complex, at least from the parking lot. Daphne scanned the place, but didn't see a single thing out of the ordinary. She shot a questioning glance to Donna, who was also looking around the property, from the safety of the Mystery Machine interior.

"Are you sure this is the place. Just looks like a regular complex to me…"

"Oh, I'm sorry, is it supposed to say secret kidnap victim storage in bright lights across the side of the building? Come and investigate, we're conducting illegal activities!"

"Gotta' admit: that'd be helpful," Shaggy stated.

Still watching the people that live in the complex, Donna said, "Anyone could be working for my father, from the two old men playing checkers, to the woman watering her plants on her balcony. He's smart; he's not going to put Russians with Uzis out front. That's not good business, and daddy's a business man."

Beginning to grow impatient, Daphne asked bluntly, "So, which one of these doors should we knock on?"

"I don't have a death wish, so none."

Spotting a large, burly eastern European standing lackadaisically by the steps up to the second floor of apartments, Daphne smirked. "What about Jason Statham over there?"

Leaning into the window to see just where the redhead was glaring, Donna narrowed her gaze, feeling as if she'd seen him somewhere before. The man stood there, blonde hair shaved into a tight, neat warhawk, with a layer of light stubble around his jaw. He appeared to be a lookout, from the way he carefully watched the parking lot, seemingly uninterested in anything else. The Mystery Machine was tucked in a parking space between two other vehicles, to draw as little attention as possible, and the man seemed to pay them little attention.

"Oh my god…" Donna whispered, staring intently at the European. "I can't believe it… I thought he'd be dead by now…"

"Who is he?" Shaggy asked, joining her.

"Nika-"

"Markova," Velma said, finishing her sentence. "He's a suspected Runner for the Rat Pack, a low level employee that handles grunt work."

"That's old information. I doubt he's low level anymore." Donna seemed mesmerized by the young soldier, and how different he looked from how she remembered. When she was still in her father's company, Nika was a scrawny little thing trying to make it in the world of organized crime, and no one expected him to live more than a few weeks. When she was leaving, Donna told him to get out of the business and never return. Unfortunately, he didn't take her advice. "You were supposed to get out…" she murmured.

"How much do you wanna' bet that guy has a key to one of these apartments on him?" asked Shaggy.

Kicking her feet up onto the dashboard, Daphne leant back into her seat and said, "I'd bet the farm on it. The question is, what are we going to do about it?"

Fred sat back in silent contemplation, watching Nika just as carefully as he was watching the parking lot. "We run a play."

The private investigators perked up at that statement and drew nearer to the blonde.

"It's been a while since we've had to run one, Freddie. You sure that's a good idea in a situation like this?" Velma questioned.

"We got a choice? We need to get in there…"

"Ashley's not going to be happy with this," Scooby said. "We're only supposed to investigate."

"And since when do we give a fuck?"

"Just making sure we're all on the same page."

"We run a 'Daydream'," said Fred.

Fidgeting at that thought, Scooby squirmed up to the blonde's side. "Maybe that's not the best idea, sending Daphne over there to try and seduce that monster."

"Well, Lassie, what do you suggest?"

Narrowing his eyes and briefly flashing his eggshell tinted teeth, Scooby warned, "Call me Lassie again, and I will hump the side of your face while you sleep, you Fonzie wannabe… We should run the 'Leash Law' play."

"Leash Law… I think that could work," said Velma. "We haven't done that one in a while, so…"

The five individuals looked to each other, and when no one protested, they prepared to execute their strategy. Shaggy slid to the back of the van, popped open one of the compartments they used to store personal items, and retrieved Scooby's leash, a rarely used tool. Clipping it onto the pooch's collar, he put some slack in it, knowing full well that the Great Dane _hated_ being, chained, caged, or otherwise unable to move freely. While he and Scooby prepared for their part, Daphne opened the passenger side door and stepped out, beginning to stretch. Fred and Velma spoke on the finer points of their plan, leaving Donna to sit back and watch Mystery Inc. at work.

"What's happening?" she whispered to herself.

Looking back at his small group of friends, Fred asked, "You guys ready?"

"Yeah, captain!" proclaimed Shaggy.

"This leash bullshit has to stop…" grunted Scooby. "I'm ready, though…"

Glancing over to Daphne, in mid hand stand. "I suppose you're ready, too, Daph?"

Effortlessly cart wheeling to her feet, she nodded with a grin.

"Then let's mount up, boys and girls, and hogtie us a kidnap victim," the blonde growled with his very best country drawl.

"Yeehaw…" Velma deadpanned.

"Whoa, whoa, what the fuck's going on?!" Donna finally asked. "Have you all forgotten I'm here?"

"… Kinda'," admitted Fred honestly.

"I didn't forget…" mumbled Shaggy.

"Again, what the fuck is going on…?"

"Well, first of all, we're going to find a way into the apartment that Al's being held in."

"How do you know which apartment it is?"

"We'll find out once we get the key, won't we? Listen, just sit back, relax, and watch us work our magic…"

Stepping out of the can, Shaggy let Scooby off of his leash, and the dog raced off, leaving the frequent cannabis user to give chase. Shouting and hollering in discontent, the dirty-blonde haired man ran after the dark brown hound, streaking in Nika's direction. As the two did that, Fred and Daphne used the cars strewn about the parking lot for cover, moving from one to another, trying their best to stay out of sight. Each of them were wearing ear pieces, commuting with Velma, who still sat comfortably in the van, watching everything from behind the windshield.

"Shaggy, give us a minute, Fred and Daphne need to get into position," the bespectacled woman said.

"Get back here you ungrateful Tauntaun!" Shaggy's voice came back over the radio.

"We only need a few more seconds…" Fred said. A short while later, the young man said, "Alright, we're by the building. Let's do it."

"Go for it, Shag."

Scooby made a beeline for the European, the tall, lanky man right on his tail, dragging his leash along. After he darted past, Nika turned to watch the dog, which had almost run the man down. As his back was turned, Shaggy barreled right into the thick burly man, taking both of them to the concrete.

"Son of a bitch," the European barked, words accented by his place of origin, which Shaggy could not determine. Pushing the stoner off of him, Nika added, "Watch where you're fuckin' goin', asshole!"

"Sorry, man, he just got away from me and he's a runner, and, well, you know how runners are…"

"No. I don't," replied Nika, still quite uncomfortable with their proximity. "Mind givin' me some space?"

"Oh, yeah! Sorry 'bout that, bro! Abel, get your ass over here, you stupid mutt!" Shaggy hollered. Scooby walked back over to his master, dragging his paws, holding his head down disappointedly. "That's right… Look at him; he knows what he did…"

"Yeah, whatever," Nika said, turning away from the pair, who quickly walked off.

Once out of earshot, a smile spread across Shaggy's lips and they rounded the corner, taking a knee behind a car to hide their activities. "What've you got, Scoob?"

Tilting his head, the pooch nodded and said, "You first."

Emptying his pockets, Norville put down a roll of money and a pack of cigarettes. "This is all I've got. You?"

A key fell from the Great Dane's strong jaws, clinking off of the asphalt. Smiling, Shaggy reported through his earpiece, "Guys, we've got a key…"

"Awesome job, Shag," said Velma. Donna was right beside her, trying to discern what was going on. "What's the address on the key?"

"Three-dash-two."

"Second floor," Fred mumbled. "That won't be too difficult. Right Daph?"

"Nope," the redhead stated, her voice filled with the usual confidence that she exuded.

"Then the two of you are up," Velma said.

Fred and Daphne moved from behind the SUV they used for cover, looking up to try and figure which apartment was 3-2. With a little guidance from Velma, they came to just below their target balcony, looking up, both wearing grins. "Think you can make it?"

"Won't know 'til we try…"

Taking three wide steps back, Daphne stared down her partner for this little dance. Kneeling down, her powerful thigh and calf muscles defined through her leggings, Daphne readied herself. Fred put his back to the balcony knelt as well, interlocking his fingers with his hands at a slopped angle. Taking off on the balls of her feet, the young woman streaked toward the blonde, but at the very last second, turned away, repeatedly whispering, "Nope, nope, nope, nope…"

"Aw, come on, don't be such a pussy!" Fred said, imitating her voice, speaking one of her very favorite sayings.

"Shut it!"

"Grow a pair, will ya'? You're even more of a bitch than me!" he continued to mock.

"I never said that…"

"I improvised…"

"Stick to the script, Jones. Or else."

Daphne reassumed the position, knelt down, mustering a bit more courage, and took off once again. This time, the length of her sneaker made contact with Fred's hands and he drove her upward as hard as he could. Souring into the air, her fingers just barely missed the edge of the balcony, and she came falling down, right into the blonde's arms.

"Again," the woman demanded.

A second attempt to the same effect elicited a growling, "Fuck!" from Daphne. "Come, on, don't stop!"

She walked back across from Fred, determined now to make it up to the balcony. She rushed forward as quickly as she could, jumping up a third time, coming just an inch closer. "God, I'm almost there! Keep going!"

"You've got to find a different way to word this stuff…"

"Shut up and get ready to thrust again…"

"What the fuck…"

Bounding up to the balcony for a fourth time, the young woman was able to get a grasp on the railing, which groaned at her modest weight. She was glad she had enough upper body strength to pull herself up, else she would've been stuck dangling there, not so inconspicuously. Pulling up just to where she could see in through the glass balcony doors, she scanned the apartment's interior with her eyes, noting the large man that stood in the kitchen, fiddling at the stove, and the man sitting on the sofa, watching television. Sticking out of waist band was a nice, shiny, 45.

"Oh, shit…"

"What do you see, Daph?" asked Shaggy.

"Well, these guys are definitely not your normal neighbors. They're packing heat and…"

"And… what?"

"Alphonse just walked right by… He's in there, and it doesn't appear to be against his will…"

"Wait, you mean the fucker went willingly?" asked Velma. After rustling and some muffled complaints, their brainy brunette's voice was replaced by another's.

"No fucking way! He wouldn't go back to my father! He just wouldn't!"

"There's no need to yell! We can hear you just fine!" said Shaggy.

"They must be holding him against his will…"

"I'm just callin' it like I see it, cupcake. He's not shackled or restrained and doesn't have a gun to his head."

"I don't know what's going on… Why would he go back…?"

"Maybe he is being held against his will," Daphne said, quickly changing her tune.

"Why? What do you see?"

"He's wearing the same clothes that he was the other night. And it looks like he's been smacked around, now that I look a little closer."

Thumbing her lower lip and crossing her legs, Velma thought aloud, "But why kidnap him? We still don't know why…"

* * *

Pulse Mall – the most public location that could possibly be chosen for a meeting. Even so, sitting in the immense food court, crowded with people shopping, conversing and going about their business, Ashley was still on edge. Although technically, she was off duty, using some of the many sick days she had accumulated over the years, the Atlanta detective was still armed to the teeth. Sheathed beneath her pant leg, around her ankle was a razor-sharp trench knife, beneath her jacket a silver thirty-two caliber was hidden, and at her hip was another firearm, her trusted Beretta. She was, by nature, a careful woman.

A white bag was tossed onto the table where she sat, and Kaitlyn dropped herself down into the chair across from the woman. Emptying the paper bag onto the table, the former sneak-thief began to idly pick at the greasy food. She had very little interest in their little lunch, and instead found herself people watching, looking at the men and women that were pretending not to notice them, Dimitry Roden's agents. They'd been there since the beginning, since before the two women had even arrived. Now it was only a matter of waiting for the guest of honor to make his appearance.

"He's always had a thing for being unfashionably late…" remarked Kaitlyn.

"Yeah…"

"Feels kinda' weird, meeting with him face-to-face like this. Before, we could always hide behind a mask, but a persona that me, you and Al made up. But now, we have to meet his eyes with our own…"

Ashley bore an odd look into Kaitlyn, but the woman avoided her gaze. "Are you… afraid? Of him?"

Kaitlyn didn't answer, only continued to absentmindedly play with her food, pushing French fries around the checkered basket they sat within. Roden had a reputation for being brutal, ruthless, eccentric and unpredictable. He was a dangerous man, hence why his name was quite high on the FBI's most wanted list. Ashley was sure that there would be several agents from the bureau in attendance for this little get together.

As if on cue, she spotted him in the crowd, walking with the swagger of a man that could own anything he wanted. But Kaitlyn knew that no matter how much he bought or gained, it would never be enough for Dimitry. She knew this for a fact because she was the exact same way. She always wanted more.

The Russian was dressed down in a cobalt colored, custom made suit, undoubtedly more costly than the vehicle that the pair of women showed up in. Smiling a smile that concealed a dangerous tongue, he removed his John Lennon shades and made his way towards them, flanked by two large Ukrainians, Volga and Balrin, his long-time bodyguards.

Dimitry waved the two huge, lumbering, well-dressed men away. He took a seat at their table, smiling at the two women as if they were friends that had not met in years. "So, which one of you is the Eris?"

Ashley didn't protest when Kaitlyn raised her hand, admitting that she was the master thief. "That would be me," she said with a smile.

Snickering, the man claimed, "I always knew that there was a doll under that wretched mask…"

"I didn't come here to get compliments thrown at me so cut the shit, Dimitry," she said, without dropping the warm smile from her face. "Where is he…?"

Continuing to smile as well, the Russian proclaimed, "I've no idea what you mean, young miss!"

"What part of cut the _shit_ didn't you understand? What do you want?" Ashley asked, getting right to the point.

"Ah, how I've missed your side of Eris' personality…" Reaching over and helping himself to some of the girls' food, the Russian went on to say, "Y'know, you two were smart… You split up the duties of being Eris between the two of you, and had your friend handle any and all parts of the technical side. It created a mythical figure to match the name. Quite brilliant. Your mistake was assuming that your little rouse fooled me… I knew the whole time that there were three of you…"

"Well, aren't you the smart little bastard. You still haven't answered my question. What do you want?"

Speaking in between chews, the career criminal said with a grin, "I wanna' get the team back together…"

Both Kaitlyn and Ashley were dumbfounded, completely taken aback by the simple statement. The latter was the only one who found amusement in it though, bursting into an uncontrollable laughter. "Oh. My. God. This whole thing was just to dig up a woman that never even existed. You dumb fuck…"

"Look, I need a job done, and Eris is the only one that can do it. And I need _all_ of Eris, all of her persona."

"We have no incentive to do this, so why the fuck should we, Dimitry?" asked Ashley.

The Russian's phone chirped just as he was preparing to respond, and he held up a single finger, reaching into his jacket to retrieve the device. Opening the flip-phone – he was always opposed to the modern smart phones – he nodded slowly, saying, "Well, I've got some incentive right here…"

Turning the device around, the women were presented with a haunting, bone-chilling photo that neither of them could find the words for a response to. Before them was a photo of Mystery Inc.'s mascot, lying on a dirty, dingy floor, his mouth muzzled behind the bars of a small cage. Pressing a button, the man scrolled right, revealing even more pictures. Daphne, Fred, Shaggy, Velma, they were all tied up, looking as miserable as could be. Saying that Kaitlyn's heart had sunken was an understatement. She was devastated, crushed. She couldn't tear her eyes away from them, and Dimitry noticed her particular interest.

"You two remember Nika, don't you? He found these nosey young people near one of my hideouts. I assumed they had some sort of connection to the two of you. Was I correct in that assumption?" Dimitry asked, quite genuinely. Ashley could tell, he wasn't leading them, he knew they were familiar with the people he'd captured, but he didn't know how all of them were related. That led her to believe that Donna hadn't been found with the others. This was probably the only upside to their current predicament.

Turning to Ashley, that shiver-inducing expression that he wore when he wanted nothing more than to intimidate or get a point across on his face, Dimitry said, "You asked me earlier what I wanted, gorgeous. Well, I want Eris to steal something for me…"

"What, exactly?"

"The thing she was supposed to steal in the first, but never did…"

"Anarchy One…"

**A/N {As always good people, the reviews are appreciated if you've got the time. PM me if you've got any questions, advice, or just have something interesting on your mind! Until the next post!}**


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